The Last Siren
by SherlockianGirl
Summary: Loki lives the alias of Detective Lo Merrick as he is called in to investigate a murder in the industrial city of Gladsheim. His suspicions deepen when he discovers the dead man's connection with Jane Foster, a lover from years past. As a string of gruesome murders follow, all roads seem to lead back to Jane as Loki realizes he no longer recognizes the woman he once knew. Lokane.


_A/N: This bit of mystery is VERY AU. I've tried to keep it relatively 1940s film noir-ish, but since I'm new to this part of the genre, I've probably taken a lot of unintentional liberties with it (please forgive them). The story is also still rooted in some Marvel-verse and Norse mythology, but above all, it's still Lokane. Inspired by aenigmaticdays' prompt on tumblr, this story seemed to just write itself from there. I hope you enjoy._

* * *

He did not like investigating homicides. They were too messy, too passionate, too thoughtless. Cases rooted in extortion and swindling were more to his liking, especially those that were woven by meticulous planning and cunning deceit. These he excelled at solving; he could call a man's bluff faster than any detective in the business.

Perhaps success came from his years of experience, and not on the side of the law. What pushed him to finally use his lies for good he attributed more to boredom than a radical change of heart. The thrill of evading police and conning dull minds out of their fortunes had become a routine that always ended with success but not satisfaction. Manipulation had its limits, and with few to appreciate his cleverness, he found little thrill in the fruits of an illicit hobby. He longed to spar with sharp minds like his own, minds bent on mischief and deceit, before delivering them the crippling blow that would lay them defeated at his feet. There was power in outsmarting an enemy and rendering him toothless to society, so where could he make a living of it? It slowly became apparent that there was more to be had on the side of the angels than that of the fallen. He dropped off the criminal circuit and turned his efforts to anonymously tipping the police, with even a little mingled detective work on the side.

If he was honest, he hadn't expected to get away with it for long.

The police soon managed to identify him as their elusive man-at-large, and converged upon his apartment one night in order to pen him up for good. He slipped their noose, however, and soon returned with another wanted conman in tow as a statement of good faith. He promised to work for them if they let him go free, or at least as far as they could trust him. The police were not entirely convinced by a man who had made his living peddling lies, and many were incredulous at the mention of his employ. Nevertheless, the jaded cops saw the raw potential in this turncoat criminal who could wind himself through the dank underworld with more ease than an oiled snake. They could use a more skilled inside man, so employ him they did. They would keep an eye on this Lo Merrick, as he called himself.

But it was this name that was the man's last persisting deception, a name to mask his real one: Loki Laufeyson, son of the great juggernaut Johann Laufeyson, a shrewd businessman who had long ago estranged himself from his last surviving relative. They had parted on vitriolic terms, Loki's betrayal of his father's lies leaving him a disowned heir with a price on his head. It was wise for him to keep their connection hidden. A name was only as good as what it got you, and Loki's promised little more than a hit man's bullet to the head.

Against all reason, Loki managed to charm his way into the authorities' good graces, though he was not blind to their lingering suspicions and watchful doubts. It never managed to bother him, however. He had gotten what he wanted: a license to slink in the darkness and crush lesser minds under the auspices of the law. He proved himself time and time again as the slickest con artists, blackmailers, and crooked businessman took his bait and found themselves put away under his lock and key. Loki reveled in this new game, his quick brain always concocting the next trap to get his man. He would have been content to play the puppet master from now on. People were so predictable, and liars and cheats doubly so.

But a murderer? A murderer was not so easily played.

* * *

Loki had always thought his apartment was too cramped for his long legs. He could walk across the space in exactly eight and three-quarters strides, excepting the space for the sparse furniture: a glossy black leather couch with a side stand, an ornate desk with an oak chair, and an antique radio atop an ebony coffee table. Many times he had considered moving, but was reluctant to lose his view. His rooms overlooked the heart of the city of Gladsheim, a bustling New England city that was a beast of high society with a dragging, festering underbelly. At dusk he watched the people seethe by his windows like ants swarming a dead animal: quick, furtive, and purposeful. Night always swallowed the wholesome as it beckoned the crooked from their cracks in alley walls. In the glow of the flickering neon signs they damned their souls, leaving the pieces strewn about the streets for others to stumble upon and follow. Loki loved to drink it in, a world collapsing in on itself beneath his very feet.

But now the night had slipped to morning and the rapping on the door was growing more persistent. Loki stumbled from his bed, limbs creaking, then immediately struck his side against the top of the nearby wooden chair. Hissing, he rubbed at the pain as he shuffled stiffly toward the door. Another round of sharp knocks made him wince as they cut through his fog of sleep.

"Yeah, coming."

His fingers fumbled with the locks before he finally managed to release the latch. Before him stood a police officer wrapped in a trench coat. He was slightly shorter in stature than Loki but relatively thin in frame with sharp blue eyes and a sandy moustache that topped a tight-lipped smile. He gave Loki's unkempt appearance a once over, but said nothing.

"Sprigg?" Loki rubbed his eyes with two fingers before pinching the bridge of his nose. "God, do you know what time it is?"

"Does it matter?"

"I'd say it damn well does!"

The policeman, Sergeant Clyde Sprigg, elbowed Loki aside before striding into the living room. He gave a low whistle. "Had no idea you kept such a nice place, Lo. Bit small, though."

Loki shut the door sharply behind him, his teeth on edge. "What do you want, Sprigg? Here to arrest me?"

The sergeant chuckled as he removed his hat and ran a hand through his blonde hair. "I just might if you keep calling me that. C'mon, we've been pals for years."

"One year."

"I don't call you 'Merrick'."

Loki pulled at his loosened tie and fixed his visitor with a sharp glare. "Spill the beans or scram out."

"The chief wants you on a case."

"Does he?" Loki lowered himself onto the leather couch, the only furniture with a spot of comfort in the room. "Have a seat."

But Sergeant Sprigg seemed too restless to sit. "Ol' Palmer was on his beat last night-"

"Patrol boat?"

"Yeah. Something thudded against the side and he grabbed a flash just to check on it. Sometimes driftwood makes it out there and causes problems."

"Do you want me to investigate the wood?"

"It was a man."

"Bit late to be out swimming, especially when Palmer's out and about."

"He was dead, Lo."

Loki clucked his tongue as he leaned back against the cushions. "You know Gladsheim. This city's always turning up stiffs. Alleys, rivers, flats. Nothing hinky about that." He stretched a languid arm to snatch up a cigarette from the side table. Lighting it, he drew on it deeply before exhaling the smoke with a sigh.

"You don't want to know who it was?" Sprigg asked.

"You know homicide's not my department."

"It should be. You ran off the tracks long enough to know a thing or two first hand."

"You calling me a murderer?"

"Were you?"

Loki's eyes glinted. "Wasn't my beat."

Sprigg sighed, a rushing sound like a train releasing steam. "You need to get back on Hargrove's sunny side. He still isn't over last month's incident."

"The DA wouldn't know a joke if it sent him a signed letter."

"You impersonated another officer on the phone."

"I needed practice. I've got rust on my pipes."

"We need a working relationship with the DA, and you made Chief Reynolds' job a whole lot tougher making him stick up for your pranks."

"No one asked him to."

"Don't be cocky. Hargrove only uses you because Reynolds sees the merit in it."

Loki's cigarette bobbed between his lips as he spoke. "I'll send some flowers round to Hargrove. Maybe some sweets. Should I take him out to dinner?"

Sprigg rolled his eyes as he sank onto the other end of the couch. "Are you gonna help with this case or not?"

Loki considered him through the haze of smoke. "Depends. Who's the bird?"

"Eddie Frey." He saw Loki stiffen visibly at the name. "You know the guy?"

"Not personally." Loki tiled his head curiously to the side. "What's the line on him? Someone bump him off?"

"Yeah. Lead poisoning."

"How many times?"

"Two shots to the head, point blank. Coroner thinks he's been dead less than twenty-four hours."

Loki reached over and crushed his cigarette in the side table ashtray. "Is the body at the morgue?"

Sprigg seemed to brighten despite the nature of the question. "Ah, there it is! You're interested at last. They took Frey in this morning after investigating the scene. Not much to see, as it was all water."

"I'll worry about that later. Have you notified anyone?"

"The papers don't get to run with it until we find out more. We called around for some friends and finally got to his wife."

"That's fine." Loki pushed himself to his feet. "Head back and tell them I'll be round the morgue in about an hour."

"Snap it up, Lo. They can't wait forever."

"Goodbye, Sprigg."

* * *

Showered and shaved, Loki shrugged himself into a white shirt and pressed gray suit. Cinching a crisp blue tie around his neck, he looked down to notice dust caked along the soles of his loafers. With a growl of frustration, he stalked to the bathroom to wash them off. Polishing them to shine would have to wait until later.

The roadking coupe roared to life beneath his seat as he wheeled the car from the parking garage and into the late morning sun. He was glad for the light traffic as he raced along the B. Frost Parkway, Gladsheim's main road through its swanky downtown. Sunlight filtered through the cold skyscrapers, flashing off their high windows to flood through the narrow streets below. The air was heavy with a jarring mixture of earth and acrid smoke; the war factories were back in high swing. The war abroad had only worsened, much to the boon of Gladsheim's well-oiled manufacturing lines. The yards had been at a standstill for two quiet weeks, purportedly under investigation of a legality issue or another (Loki had lost interest a few sentences into the newspaper article), but this morning's hum of industry attested to the problem's resolution. It was a city that pocketed the death it caused, a twisted livelihood that sent spidering claws scraping through men's thoughts long after their hearts were bled dry. He breathed this world into his lungs and let it course through his veins, though his mind managed to kept its influence largely at bay.

Loki felt a familiar chill creep over his skin as he drove under the long shadow of Ymir Heights. It had been eight years since he had seen the murderous gleam in his father's eyes that told him all he needed to know about his future in the family business. The details of their last fight were lost to him, more out of flippant carelessness than suppression of a bad memory. Laufeyson had sought to weaponize his own flesh and blood, so Loki had slipped from his sight to build a living under another name.

He slowed the car as he swung it into the parking lot of the city morgue. Sprigg had warned him that smoking had been newly prohibited on the grounds, so Loki dug into his pocket for his band of popsicle sticks. They served as his protest to the various no smoking establishments he often encountered as well as a placeholder for the cigarette he wasn't allowed to light. Chewing the wood helped keep his mind on other things.

Stepping through the door, he was struck with a stench of antiseptic that almost succeeded in drowning out the stale scent of decay. Loki did not glance at the receptionist, but kept his gaze straight forward. "I'm Detective Merrick with-"

The introduction proved unnecessary, for Sprigg suddenly swung open an adjacent door and beckoned him to follow. "Heard you come in, Lo. Took your time getting dressed, huh?"

"I'm attending a funeral," Loki said sardonically, his arm giving a wide gesture to their surroundings. "Didn't get to shine my shoes, though."

"Our buddy Frey will understand."

Pushing through the last pair of doors into the small examination room, Loki felt his gait stagger to a halt when he noticed the woman before him. She was dressed in a black suit and pencil skirt that hugged her legs above the knees, a stiff matching hat perched on her head to perfectly shade her downcast eyes. Eyes that were fixed on the body that lay on the table.

"Jane?" The name rushed past his lips with more force than he intended.

Her head shot up, the hat slipping slightly across her smooth brown hair. Her eyes lifted to his and widened in recognition. "Lo-"

"What're you doing here?" he interrupted quickly, trying to shake the surprise from his voice. He didn't like being caught off guard like this.

"You know her, Lo?" Sprigg asked. He was the only other man in the room. Living, that was.

"We ran the town once," Loki replied flatly, his eyes never leaving the woman's. "But she moved on a long time ago."

"Yes, to be married," Jane said quietly.

Loki bit hard on the stick in his mouth. "Don't tell me this was your husband."

"He was." Her voice wobbled with emotion. She raised a linen handkerchief to her lips and bowed her head.

"Sprigg, close this guy up. I'll look him over later." Loki opened the door to an adjacent room stocked with several chairs and a table, as if its sole purpose was to seat the grieving. He motioned Jane inside and followed with Sprigg close behind.

"When did they ring you up?" Loki asked.

Jane lowered herself into a chair and crossed her legs at the ankles. "When did who ring me up?"

"The police."

"An hour ago. I think they had been calling for some time. I was outside the city and didn't get back until late this morning."

"What were you doing outside the city?"

"Not now, Lo," Sprigg warned under his breath.

"I'm fine," the widow said as she glanced between the two of them. "I'm glad to help. I was staying with my sister and her husband."

"Odd time for a vacation," Loki said.

Something hardened along the edges of Jane's eyes. "I've been needing to get away these past few weeks."

"Trouble with Eddie?"

"Every marriage has its troubles, detective."

"They must be serious to make you skip town. Why return today?"

Jane looked down at her crumpled handkerchief. "I was going to end it, for good this time. I was a fool to have married Eddie."

Loki flipped the popsicle stick with his tongue before snapping his teeth back on it. "Yes, you were."

Jane's eyes sparked at this and her lips thinned. "And an even greater fool to have considered you."

"It's in the past, sweetie. Leave it."

"Mrs. Frey, did your husband have a history of violence?" Sprigg asked smoothly.

"No, he never raised a hand against me. I don't think he was capable of it."

Loki snorted. "Any man is capable of a few socks to the jaw. Any woman too, and don't forget it. If he was such a saint, why try to give him the slip?"

Fear crossed Jane's face. "I was afraid of him. Oh, I was afraid! Not at first, of course, but these past few months he's changed horribly. He wouldn't eat, he'd stay out late at night and when he came back…" She shuddered. "He had this look in his eyes like he would bury me six feet under if I so much as said a word to him. He used to read the paper front to back when he came home—"

"So the guy was having a bit of rotten luck." Sprigg interrupted casually. "Is that so strange?"

"He was keeping the obituaries."

"What?"

"I found a stack of them in his closet. Every newspaper obituary page from the past two months."

"Hum," was all Sprigg said.

"He had circled names on every one of them!" Jane continued, her voice growing hysterical. "It was almost as if he were keeping count!"

"He was noting names of the deceased? I don't see how-"

"Did your husband have many enemies?" Loki asked suddenly.

Jane shook her head. "None at all. He was friends with everyone who knew him, but he often kept to himself."

"Men don't get two slugs to the brain for minding their own business, Mrs. Frey."

"I don't know whose business he was minding. He wouldn't tell me anything!" She buried her face in her hands with a gasping cry.

Loki pushed his coat back and dug his hands into his pockets. "What prompted you to search his closet?"

"I was curious. Maybe if I could find out why…why he was so different, I could help."

"So you popped off to your sisters' place to…help him?"

"I found a gun under his pillow." Jane looked up and locked Loki's gaze. "He has never owned a weapon in his life."

"So you feared for yours."

"Yes."

"We'll need you to give your statement at the station and maybe rest up a bit. In the meantime Sprigg and I will go give your place a look-see."

"Let me come with you." Her voice was pleading.

Loki raised a brow. "We'll talk again, Mrs. Frey, don't you worry." He glanced over at the other detective. "Did Palmer come with you?"

"Yeah, he's waiting with the car."

"Excuse us, Mrs. Frey," Loki nodded in Jane's direction before opening the door and motioning for Sprigg to follow him.

"Nasty business, Lo," Sprigg said once the door had closed behind them.

"Murder usually is."

"Still need to see the body?"

"The body can wait. Mrs. Frey interests me more."

Sprigg huffed through his moustache. "I take it you had a past with this dame?"

"I'm not interested in who she was. Not anymore. I want to know more about who she is now."

"And who might she be now?"

"A woman who can't shed an actual tear while talking about her dead husband. Did you watch her? Someone has taught my gal to act."


End file.
